By that I mean, I am typing this and it is Monday night. November 30. Not today. Today is likely any day but that. Unless it is November 30 in another year, many days from now. When I am typing this. Drunk. You get what I’m saying.

Brian told me…well…reminded me how fucking much I love drunk writing. And I said to him, “Brian, I don’t have anything to say.”

But then I remembered I totally just ballered the fuck out of our wine rack. Because I’m a motherfucking genius. And you all need to see the brilliance that is drunk me.

So we’ve had this problem with sloping shoulder bottles in the $12 wine rack I bought at Savers (One day, I plan to spray paint it or something to make it look fancy, but until then it’s dusty, rusty wrought iron). The problem is that the sloping shoulder bottles slide down and out without warning. The last thing in the world I want is for one of our fancy pants bottles of two buck chuck or non-cheap wines (it’s hit or miss here – we serve both kinds) to fall to its shattering, wine-spilling, alcohol-abuse end on the basement floor. And so I placed the sloping shoulder wines on the wooden rack atop the metal rack and swore never to buy sloping bottles again (which is a dirty rotten lie because I love pinot noir and Kim Crawford sauvignon blanc – when it’s on sale or at Sam’s Club).

Wine Rack Hack for Magnum Bottles

Well, we went for our wine tasting at Cooper’s Hawk (restaurant, wine club, bar, joyous place of boozy goodness) and after all of my and some of Brian’s wine, I decided I needed to make room for last month’s magnums of Decadence (some fancy pants wine celebrating Cooper’s Hawk’s 10th anniversary that I didn’t pay extra for).

And so it was time to solve the problem of the fucking wine rack and sloping shoulder bottles. And I thought. And rearranged. And fucked around with the wine. Eventually, the Decadence ended up on the top of the wine rack, cradled in the wood rack.

Storing magnums of wine is easy when you’re creative…or drunk.

Wine Rack Hack for Sloping Shoulder Bottles

Now…what to do with those sloped shoulders…I couldn’t drink ’em because as good as five bottles of wine sounds on paper, it just wasn’t going to happen on a school night. I didn’t want them on the ground, lest we randomly flood or some shit like that. And so I thought.

And I thought some more.

And holy hell did I think enough to drop a couple more F-bombs on that fucking wine rack…

Until I put the bottle in backwards.

Wait, what? It works? Fuck yeah, bitches!

In case of emergency, store wine near a fire extinguisher. Or not…whatever.

All you have to do to keep those suckers from falling off the rack is put them in backwards…against a wall (or a sort of almost wall. Whatever).

And now I’m fucking sober. It was probably the time it took me to make graphics. That shit always takes forever.

Are you a fucking genius after a few glasses or wine or cocktails? What brilliant ideas have you discovered after drinking? Were you expecting me to break shit? Because I totally didn’t. Booya, Grandma!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

So you know how sometimes I do things so you don’t have to? This is one of those times. So please. Kids. Don’t try this at home.

Yoga is fun. Yoga is fucking awesome. Yoga is one of my new favorite things to do. Sometimes, I think in my head at night well, I can yoga or I can write, but I can’t do both.

As evident by my recent posting schedule, you can see where my head has been. And last night after happy hour (that ran well over an hour) was no exception. The thing is…Drunk Chrissy wanted to yoga AND write. And she had a brilliant fucking plan. That went something like this.

Step 2: (which is really like 10 steps in one, but it doesn’t really matter how you get home, as long as you’re not driving) Go home.

Step 3: Make a snack. You can’t be expected to be brilliant without your hungry drunk brain cleared.

Step 4: Decide that you’re going to try amazing feats of yoga. You have no fear. (No, really. DON’T. TRY. THIS. AT HOME).

Step 5: Find your unsuspecting victim. I mean photographer. I mean boyfriend. Tell him you have a genius plan and you require his services. When he tells you that shoveling your massive driveway is more important than yoga pictures, pout just a little.

Step 6: Have another snack. If your first snack was salty, opt for something sweet, now. If you like.

Step 7: Lay down on your mat and flop into a position that takes way more work when you’re sober. Twice.

This is a position called plow pose. It’s a real pose. And it’s usually a lot harder for me.

This is my attempt at shoulder stand. Apparently you’re supposed to do this before plow…I did it after.

Step 8: Lay back down and watch the room spin just a little.

Step 9: Decide it’s time for headstand and race to the hallway that allows you to do it.

Step 10: Get your inversion on. I prefer headstand…one, because I discovered this week that I can do it and two because it doesn’t wreak havoc on my wrists.

I walked up the wall. It was fun.

Step 11: Collapse into the room spins.

Step 12: Go to bed, drunky.

See, that wasn’t so hard? Still best not to do this. I probably could have hurt myself.

What stupid shenanigans do you get into after a few beers? What yoga poses are you proud of or excited to try?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

So this is the only peep you’re going to hear from me on the subject of that Hallmark holiday couples everywhere waste money on and singletons everywhere cry into their beer. As the theme for this morning’s Monday Memories is LOOOOOOOOVE, I thought I’d tell you about the one time before Brian that I had a “Valentine.”

I was in college and dating the Ethiopian. (We had already broken up and gotten back together once, as I spent 2 weeks in London and he missed me and blah blah blah). So we had been back together for a couple of weeks when the VD rolled into town. Neither of us had really ever done anything for it…so I planned some stupid shmoopy crap and cooked dinner. I won’t tell you about the shmoopy crap (because I’m totally embarrassed for myself that it involved a scavenger hunt…), but I will tell you that dinner involved a bottle of champagne. That I drank. By myself. The Ethiopian enjoyed a bottle of PBR, and I enjoyed a bottle of Korbel.

After dinner, his single buddy called to say he was at the bar. I told the Ethiopian to head over there, I wanted to clean the kitchen first, and I would meet him there.

He left, and I immediately went down to the bedroom for a “nap.” An hour later, I saw that he was calling my cell, but I was groggy (read: drunk on champagne and passed the fuck out) and opted not to answer. I fell back asleep and woke up at 4 AM to discover that he had called me like 5 times, leaving messages as to which bar to find him at each time. And that he was home. Whoops! Guess I slept through the evening’s festivities. And I didn’t really feel all that bad. And neither did he. So I guess when we broke up (again) a few weeks later, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise.

Join me and my pals as we write memories to make you laugh. If you’d like to get involved, next week’s theme is FOOD!

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